


descent

by Cypherr



Series: Hollow [6]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Physical Abuse, Temporary Character Death, Vilbur, Villain Wilbur Soot, its minecraft they respawn, look i'm finally working on this series, real life minecraft au, this takes place just before the last part with techno, while ignoring all of my academic responsibilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cypherr/pseuds/Cypherr
Summary: Tommy wasn't sure when it started, but the man he lived with was no longer his brother
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Hollow [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958773
Comments: 13
Kudos: 565





	descent

**Author's Note:**

> lmao it's been a MINUTE since i've worked on this series, but plot bunnies won't leave me alone rip. I've still yet to work on my NaNoWriMo assignment and I'm currently 9k words behind schedule. love that for me  
> anyway, hope you enjoy! and TW for blood and abuse and shit cuz it gets kinda dark cuz wilbur's fuckin crazy

Tommy didn't know when it happened- when it had started. He guessed it was at some point after their exile, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't really sure of anything anymore. Wilbur was- he was _manic_. He was cheshire sweet smiles and honey-coated words with those that met with him as the newly reinstated President of L'manburg, but when it was just them, he was, quite frankly, fucking _insane_.

He was always muttering to himself, wide, bloodshot eyes made all the more prominent by the heavy bags under them. His hair was a mess from his constant yanking and running his hands through the frizzy his frizzy locks. His worn beanie was only a half-assed attempt to cover it, and that was only what he saw of the man. Wilbur was nearly always in his office, door locked tight. Tommy had tried four times to get him to take a break- to get him out of that awful room. It took him four times to realize that Wilbur was no longer the man he once knew (if he ever really knew him in the first place.)

-

"Wilbur?" he called, voice raised ever so slightly as he rapped his knuckles lightly against the pristine birch door. He hadn't seen Wil leave his office since noon the previous day, and he was worried. He knew Wilbur had a lot on his plate- a lot of weight on his shoulders- as Manburg had been a country barely holding itself together, and now it was up to him to fix it. But Tommy also knew that allowing Wilbur to run himself into the ground was no better than running L'manburg into the ground.

"Go away, Tommy." The words were muffled, but he could still make out the frustration behind them, clear as day.

"Just- just an hour break. Please, Wil." He knew that none of them had ever been good at self-care, the scars and memories that would haunt each of them forever were testimony enough, but they'd always made sure to look out for each other, at the very least. Phil had made them promise before they left.

"Fuck off!" He stumbled away from the door, startled by his brother's shout. His genuine, furious shout. He- he'd try again later, then.

-

"Wilbur?" He asked, gently knocking on the office door once more.

"Come in," Wilbur's tone was cold and devoid of all the raging emotion that had been present yesterday. He tried the knob, but it only twisted slightly. The door was still locked.

"The uh- the door's locked, Wil," he called, confusion lacing his words. Maybe Wilbur just forgot? Yeah, that had to be it.

"Exactly."

"I- what?"

"Nobody fucking wants you here, Tommy. Nobody fucking wants you." The words were still empty, void of any passion or expression. Wil- Wilbur was just in a bad mood. Yeah, yeah. He was just tired and overworked. (He had to be.)

-

"Wilbur?" he knocked, repeating the same routine he'd grown used to.

"Tommy, my man, come in!" Wilbur laughed, grin bright as he swung the door open. Tommy was so fucking relieved to see his older brother for the first time in days that he never thought to look for anything amiss. He didn't see the madness behind his grin. The malice in his eyes. The tension in his limbs, as if he was a cat about to pounce.

Tommy stepped around Wilbur and into his office. It was surprisingly clean considering he'd been cooped up in here for the past four days, the room only littered with paperwork. He went to speak, to ask what had been up with him recently, but there was a strange feeling in his gut as he looked around the office, and when he went to turn around to face Wilbur, he found that he was stuck, and that it had started to _hurt_. A glance down showed the tip of an iron blade poking through the soft skin of his belly.

"Wilbur?" he whispered, the taste of iron pooling on his tongue and dripping, red hot, down his chin. He was pulled back into Wil's chest, resting against his brother's solid form. There was a hand gently carding through his blonde locks, and the arm around his middle was the only thing keeping him standing. He thought- Wilbur had said that once they ( _he_ ) reclaimed L'manburg, he wouldn't have to hurt him anymore. That he wouldn't have to punish him like this again.

"Oh, Toms, this is what happens when we don't listen, 'kay? I don't want to have to keep doing this, but stop fucking bothering me and listen when I say that _no one wants you here._ " And then his vision faded to black, set to enter the abyss he'd grown so used to inhabiting over the years.

-

"Wilbur?" The previous day was still fresh in his mind, phantom pains aching deep in his gut where his brand new scar lay, but he knocked anyway. He wouldn't give up on his brother. He couldn't. He heard a deep, albeit muffled, sigh from the other side of the door.

"Come in, Tommy." Wilbur sounded exhausted, now. He guessed the days without rest were finally catching up to him. The knob actually turned it this time, walking into the dimly lit office and clicking the door shut behind him.

"Come here," he waved him over, leaning back in his plush chair. He hesitantly made his way over to the desk, watching silently as Wil stretched his likely sore limbs before he got up, walking around the spruce table, coming up behind him once more. His arms came around him, hands resting just below the neat stacks of paperwork, caging him in on either side, his chest pressed firmly against his back.

"W-Wil?" His shaky inquiry was only met with a noncommittal him. One of the arms disappeared, and then his face lit up in pain as he was shoved harshly into the wooden surface of the desk. He flailed before feeling his arms being captured, rough rope circling his wrists, just loose enough in order to not cut off circulation, but tight enough to chafe and for him to know there was no way out.

"Wilbur? Wha's goin' on?"  
"Since you insist on bothering me, you're going to be useful," he spat before dragging him over to his chair, roughly shoving him to his knees. Kneeling down in front of him, Wilbur grinned that sardonic smile of his, gently cupping his tear-streaked face with his ink-stained hands. (When had he started crying?)

"Sitting for hours is so very uncomfortable, so you're gonna be a nice footstool, m'kay? You're gonna be good for big brother, right bubba?" Tommy nodded, terrified of what could happen if he didn't. He didn't know what the fuck was happening, but the sickly sweet man in front of him was _not_ his Wilbur- not the caring big brother he'd grown up with alongside Phil and Techno. Even the Wilbur that killed him or smacked him around as punishment when he disobeyed or fucked up was not this cruel. (He was. He just hadn't shown it. Hadn't had the power in his hands to corrupt him enough to drop his mask.)

He watched the sunlight move across the room, disappearing for a long while before it made its return on the other side of the room, all the while, Wilbur's heels dug into his back, likely bruising, as his joints ached from the position. Eventually, (but not soon enough- never soon enough) Wilbur grew tired of the sadistic game, no longer deriving any fun from the situation, and yanked him up by his scalp, slitting his throat with his golden letter opener (that had been a congratulatory gift from Phil after the first war) with no hesitance, as if Tommy were nothing more than a meaningless envelope. Wilbur's hands carded through his hair, soothing in their repetitive motions, as Tommy's head rested in his lap, waiting until he finally bled out. He couldn't even muster up the energy to cry.

"Good boy, Toms. Good boy."

-

Tommy had taken to wearing his red neckerchief around his neck instead of tied around his wrist to hide the thin, white scar that stuck out on his neck like a neon sign. He kept his head low, avoiding Wilbur when he could, obeying like some kind of lap-dog when he couldn't. It pissed him off to no end, but he- he was _scared_. Terrified, even. It was like living with a stranger who wore the face of his brother. Wil had always been cool and calculating, always planning the next move, staying the level-headed leader that won them their independence. Bur now, now he was unpredictable and deranged. He didn't want to think about what had happened behind that office door. Flinched every time he saw those heavy bags and manic eyes. Wilbur hadn't even ditched his trenchcoat, unless he had an important meeting. He wasn't sure if it helped separate this new stranger from his brother, or hurt that Wil was so far gone he had thrown away their traditional L'manburg uniform like it was nothing. Tommy couldn't remember the last time he had left the White House. And with that thought, he drifted into a restless slumber.

-

_"Hey, Tommy?" They were on their bench, mellohi playing its familiar jaunty tune, the sound being carried away by the gentle breeze._

_"Yeah, Big T?" The sun was nice, lighting up the world around them in vivid oranges and reds and yellows._

_"What- what do you think is gonna happen tomorrow?" Tubbo's uniform was bright and crisp as ever, freshly pressed for their battle tomorrow- for_ the _battle._

_"We'll kick Dream's sorry ass! No doubt about it!" But then Tubbo turned to face him, eyes blank and sightless, crimson flowing from his mouth like a river._

_"Promise?"_

"TUBBO!" and maybe he shouldn't have awoken with a scream. Maybe he should've remembered where he was- who he was with. But he didn't, and now there were hands in his hair and a body pressed tightly against his. He- he could hear humming, like Wilbur used to do when someone couldn't sleep, but he didn't live with him anymore. Not really. (He remembered the first time he had heard it. He had been seven at the time, and they had all decided to sleep in the same room after a bad scare earlier in the day. He was bleary with rest, having just awoken, but Wil's melodic tone was unmistakable, as were Techno's shaking shoulders and soft cries. He recalls watching Techno calm to the soothing tune, falling asleep soon after. Wilbur had always been there for them, then.)

"Shh, it's okay, Toms, you're safe. You don't need Tubbo- he was useless anyway." His tone was soft, a smooth serenade that incased him in a fuzzy warmth like the old Wilbur had, but his blood had run cold. What the fuck had Wilbur just said?

"All you need is me, Bubba. Big brother will keep you safe."

"What." He knew his words were flat, and he knew that he would regret speaking up- talking back to him. (He always did. He wished he wasn't so impulsive.)

"All you-"

"What the fuck did you say about Tubbo?" The hands that had been gently kneading his scalp were harsh in their grip, tugging his head away from Wilbur's chest, forcing him to look into those stony eyes. (When had they become so cold- so devoid of the warmth he had grown accustomed to? Where was the warm brown that reminded him of hot chocolate on a cold winter's night? The eyes that promised him safety and love when he had been scared or sad?)

"You don't speak to me that way." Wil's words were biting, laced with an all too familiar venom, but he couldn't bring himself to care. (He'd care later- he always did- whether it be when he was nursing his wounds or finding ways to cover his new respawn scars.)

"What the _fuck_ did you say about my best friend?" He stared into those brown, murky depth, gaze defiant, sparking with the rebellion that they once held in their youth. (he was still in his youth, but he no longer felt like it. Children didn't fight wars, and when they did, they were never children on the other side.) He watched, sickened by the snarl that grew on the monster that wore his brother's skin's face.

"You know damn well he's a good for nothing-" he couldn't stop his white-knuckled fist from colliding with the brunette's jaw. He felt a twisted satisfaction at the sight of his head snapping to the side, mouth slightly ajar in shocked silence. He watched, nearly giddy, as he stormed out of the room, coat-clad back illuminated by the warm hues of the rising sun.


End file.
